Silver Bullet
by Volvochick
Summary: The sequel/prequel to one of my oneshots: Jabez. It's basically the details surronding Duncan's death.


Silver Bullet

Summery: The sequel, or would this be considered a prequel, to my previous story Jabez. There isn't much D/C in this I don't think. This is based on the events that took place during Duncan's death in my previous story. Enjoy!

Duncan Kelly's cold blue eyes swept over the battlefield in front of him; watching, searching for a way to enter the farm house that stood only meters away. And though no dead bodies lay on the black trampled plants and no explosions could be heard in the distance, this, in a sense, was still a cold, cruel, and merciless battle. He may not have been in the army, dressed in the camouflage greens and browns, working and fighting to save hundreds of thousands of people of a tyrannical ruler, but what he was doing was just as great. For it was his job to enter the almost fallen down building and retrieve and destroy something that he would save just as many lives. A drug raid was what he was on, and marijuana was what he was to retrieve. And there were millions of packages, ready to be sold to dealers all across North America.

And it was just his luck that the people had chosen his town to base operations in.

But so far, since he had arrived here only moments ago, nothing of any significance had happened. And by this point, Duncan was half expecting a half a dozen tumbleweed to roll on by. The users that he had to apprehend had probably found out about the raid and had skipped town. And it certainly wasn't like he wanted to be here anyway. Right now, he should have been next to his girlfriend Courtney, whom he had loving, alright so it was more mockingly than anything, nicknamed Princess at a younger age, was due to give birth to his child, their child, any day now. She and the unborn baby were the reason he had even decided to take up this piece of crap job anyway. Oh how he hated this job with a passion.

Duncan couldn't help but smirk coldly though when he heard the police chief yell over is megaphone that if the opposite side was to surrender, than no one would get hurt. He knew that his words were a big, fat load of bull. And he had found this out at a quite a young age, ten to be exact. And even now, almost ten years later, he still shuddered at the memory. Nine years ago, he couldn't quite remember what he had done that day, but he and some others heard the exact some words come out of a different cop's mouth. Foolishly, he had believed them while he followed the older boys out with his hands up, just as the others had been doing, acting as innocent as a ten year old could.

Next thing he knew, his face was smashed up against a wall with a tazor behind his neck, its electricity making his short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The small handcuff's that had been placed with force on his wrists had felt so cold and yet, not a tear was shed. Not one single tear. He was in too much shock to do nothing more than stand their with his mouth open, catching flies as they flew lazily in. Still, the sheer terror of what had been happening was enough for him to almost crap himself.

He wasn't sure which one it was, but he remembered one of his parents yelling and shouting at the other cops to stop what they were doing, that was their son that they were manhandling. From that moment on though, he absolutely hated his parents through and through, everything from who they where to what they stood for. Ever since then, every time he had managed to get apprehended he made sure to make that cop hate the day that they had decided to mess with Duncan, rebel extraordinaire. And every snide remark or mock comment that made the handcuff's that much tighter or the tazor just so much closer to his neck, only inflated his ego more until he was about ready to burst with it.

A loud gun shot broke Duncan's thought as he heard a cry of pain. Great, so the damn losers didn't bother to skip town, so much for optimism. A quick look to his left revealed a man with blood rushing down his upper right arm, dark red liquid already staining his clenched fingers as it seeped through them. The man's name might have been Jackson or something like that, either way, he didn't really care. Even as a child he had never really cared to know the name of anyone who was beneath him, only his superiors. The same went for hid so called "co-workers", god the word tasted like mud in his mouth. Duncan Kelly made sure that he never listened to anyone who wasn't his equal. And if the shot had meant anything to him, it was just a taunt, telling him that the others were not about to surrender and that he was weak to have even token the job in the first place.

Another shot sounded, this one only meters away from where he lay crouched. A woman on the end right was still kneeling with a smoking gun and saw a smile of contempt and pride cross her features when a similar cry of pain sounded again, this time coming from the house. Even if he hated their cuts, he had to admit the woman was a fair shot, for a girl that is. Anyways, that was hopefully one down, who knew how many to go.

Oh this was going to be an absolute blast, happy happy fun time.

Duncan stayed behind as he watched the others who had joined him sneak over to the wooden shack. He knew that they were signing their death warrant and it made him laugh. While everyone else got killed, he was going to survive. What a joy! And for once in this disgusting crap people called a job, he was actually happy that it was his job to stay behind and "behave" as his bosses put it. To their reasoning, since was an ex-con he knew how the criminal mind worked and was able to finally catch these people and put them where they belonged, a small one room cell with only iron bars stopping one's escape. No privacy what so ever. And it had been filled him with a barrel of intense fury.

That was what these people thought of them as, wild beasts that just needed to be captured and trained to no extent until they became normal and began to skip through a valley of pretty perfect sunshine daisies. Just the thought made him want to puke, both in horror and disgust. And Duncan was quite sure that nothing was normal anymore. I mean, come on, he had just spent eight weeks of hell with total freaks a few summers back! Chris Maclean had helped him realize that no one and nothing was normal back in the first season of Total Drama Island in his own very special way, meaning eating and drinking cockroaches and toilet water and jumping off cliffs so sharks could eat him.

Still though, the chiefs had worked as hard as possible to actually make him look like a normal person, well, in their view anyway. His looks were the one thing that made him different and his attitude was probably the only thing that attracted to Courtney, which never failed to amaze him some days.

His vibrant green Mohawk was now gone, replaced with a messy black hairstyle. Every single silver piercing that had been stuck into his face had disappeared, only the several holes proved that he had once had them. He had downright refused to change his look, a nasty snarl coming from his mouth as they tried to convince him. He probably would have lunged at the man beside him had not handcuffs suddenly appeared on his wrists.

Duncan had been placed in one of the office chairs and left in a lone, solitary room. He heard a faint buzzing coming from a man's hand when he told Duncan that he had two choices: to lose the hair or lose the green. With a roll of his blue eyes, he made a gruff reply and let someone try to brush his Mohawk down. It proved to be nearly impossible. His ribs had almost cracked with the withheld laughter because no matter how hard the others tried, his hair refused to lay down, always standing proud on top of his head.

Finally, one of the many dweebs he had been forced to work with appeared with a pair of very sharp scissors. The light in the room reflected beautifully off the shiny metal. Duncan could only scoff. Who did these people think they were? Did they think they were just going to cut off his hair? They were as dumb as they looked.

Duncan smirked evilly before he heard the dreaded snip of the scissors and his hair, his green hair, fell to his feet, still in the same shape that it stood on top of his head. No one in the room moved he went crazy, he was certain that the handcuffs almost snapped clean in half on his wrists as he tried to strangle the punk who just cut off his hair. Finally though, deciding that he wasn't going to be freed anytime soon, settled for a death glare instead at the man. And just like old times, his ego expanded when he watched the said man run off like a dog with its tail caught between his legs. No matter how much he absolutely loathed this job though, this was still the only income he had.

A shot suddenly flew over Duncan's head as he instinctively ducked with his gun tilted by his head, ready to fire a bullet of his own at any given moment. He really needed to stop day-dreaming, as cheap as it was, in the middle of a raid. He heard another shot escape from the gun and quickly turned and looked above the car and let one of his own fly. He really missed his old life. And although he probably would have never gone this deep into betraying the law, just because he was a rebel didn't necessarily mean he did drugs; he could almost see himself out there. Helping the ones he was sworn to hate as a cop.

If anything, he was just glad that his friends weren't the one's out there, if they still were his friends of course.

Duncan's sharply tuned ears, brought about from listening to the footsteps of approaching cops for years, managed to hear the sound of a small metal hit the small rocks beside him. That was most certainly not a bullet. He turned his head to spot a shimmer of gold glaring back at him through the red-brown dirt. He slowly reached out and grasped the object in his fist, as well the unneeded dirt, rocks, and grass.

He looked to the middle of his palm and amid the earth bound elements was a small ring. Three small diamonds were placed on the top, one after the other, glittering dully in the light of the moon. The largest diamond was in the middle of the three, and was just a smidgeon larger than the rest. All three were just large enough for eye to see the prized diamonds. It was well-worn, sporting a couple of dents as well as a stain or two.

It was a small, battered engagement ring.

Duncan quickly put the ring into his breast pocket as he silently waited for another shot to fire; he had judged by the time between each shot that the user probably held a shotgun. He had bought the worn ring at a small pawn shop downtown, for Courtney. Just because he hated every bone in his parents body didn't mean he didn't listen to his parents every once in a blue moon. A foggy memory resurfaced of his parents lecturing him on how it was time that he took responsibility for his actions. Most likely he had been playing a game or listening to some music at the time. Well, he was at least going to take some responsibility and marry her, just like a father-to-be should. He had realized this weeks ago, and it was the right thing to do wasn't it?

Three more bullets pierced the car, one in the hood, another in the fender, and the shattering of glass gave way to suggestion that the other one had hit the windshield.

Duncan stood up after a few seconds, he figured that the shooter must have been reloading, pointed his gun to where the gun fire had come from. What he saw made him loosen his grip on the gun and almost drop it to the ground.

"Derek?"

"Duncan?"

He stared surprised at the guy in front of him. Long, unruly blonde hair covered a pair of brown eyes that he had once known so well. A long silver shotgun was held in the man's arms.

They stared at the other in complete shock for what felt like hours until Duncan heard the crunch of gravel to his friends right. He looked into the eyes of another man, fear filtered through his piercing green eyes. His knuckles were pale white as they gripped shaking on a black pistol.

Behind the man Duncan saw other people, running after him and most likely shouting at him some instructions or another. He looked back at his best friend and his accomplice, who slowly raised the gun and pointed it at Duncan, the sweat under his short brown hair proved it more of a warning than anything, but Derek obviously hadn't known that.

"Frankie no!"

Frankie jumped his surprise as his finger hit the trigger accidentally. A shot blasted from the gun, aiming straight for Duncan. No one could move as they saw the shot flying toward him as if in slow motion. Not even Duncan's reflexes were fast enough to dodge the dreaded silver bullet speeding towards him.

And to Duncan's ear's only, the small ding of metal colliding with metal sounded as the bullet entered his lung. The last thing Duncan heard was a scream and the wail of a newborn babe in the distance before he crumpled to the floor and everything went black.

There. It's finally done. And for those of you who had no idea what in the world just happened, just click on my account name and the previous story.


End file.
